


Bound for Trouble

by wheel_pen



Series: Bedeviled [3]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 02:18:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8352424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: Erik and Charles have their official bonding ceremony when Erik is twelve (very grown-up!) and Charles is six (just a baby!). It’s a difficult adjustment for Erik to make, suddenly having this extra person in his life all the time—with his friends, for his celebrations, even when he has other things to do. He’ll need to use all his coping strategies to find a way to deal with his lively new Omega.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The bad words are censored; that’s just how I do things. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

 

Charles@6, Erik@12

Erik glanced behind him to make sure no one was watching, then slipped around the corner of the house to the side yard. He tried to walk both casually and with purpose: he knew where he was going, he was supposed to be here, no need to pay attention or stop him. As the noise of the party faded behind him, he felt himself relaxing incrementally, and when he finally got to the back of the house—which took a while, because it was a ridiculously large house—Erik breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back against the brick wall, checking first to make sure it was clean enough to touch his new suit.

He wasn’t running away or hiding. He was just taking a break, he told himself. There were so many people, and that could be overwhelming for him sometimes. He ought to grow out of that soon, or at least his father hoped he would; but Erik didn’t think he could ever _enjoy_ parties.

Even when they were for him.

A series of giggled shrieks made him straighten up suddenly, and a group of small children came dashing across the garden, all of them dressed in their uncomfortable best, and jabbering at each other incomprehensibly. Erik stayed still and hoped they would run right past him, but they stopped abruptly and _stared_ , like he was some kind of alien who might cause them trouble. He shifted awkwardly. What did one _say_ to little kids?

One of the boys jumped forward. “Halt, invader!” he ordered Erik, who hadn’t moved. “You will never gain the secret of our magic crystal!”

“What?” asked Erik blankly.

The little boy gasped and clutched at his throat, staggering dramatically. “Oh no! The villain has a super laser beam! It’s making us lose our powers!”

The other children immediately began groaning and stumbling across the lawn, as Erik watched with bemusement. The lead boy and a few others collapsed on the grass, each trying to drag out their death throes longer than the rest.

One girl hesitated, however. “My mom said she’d _kill_ me if I got my dress dirty,” she pointed out. “Octi, get up, you’ll stain your suit!” One of the boys heaved a sigh and stood with reluctance; Erik found the girl to be very sensible.

“Should we go back?” asked another child hesitantly. “My ama said not to go too far…”

“We’re only in the backyard!” protested the lead boy. “Come on, let’s play in the maze!”

The same girl, who seemed to be the oldest or at least the tallest, affected an air of responsibility. “Let’s go back,” she decided, adding in a tempting tone, “There might be cake!” This sealed the deal for most of the other children, who trooped away without giving Erik a second glance.

The boy who had initially spoken to him was not so easily led, however, and popped up only to approach Erik with a friendly smile. He had unnaturally blue eyes, and freckles, and looked like some sort of boy-doll his friend Emma might have had when she was younger, except for his nose was too big. Which Erik thought was actually a good thing, it made him seem more normal.

“I know who you are!” the boy proclaimed.

Erik had a feeling he also knew the youngster, though they hadn’t actually been introduced yet. “Are you Charles?” he guessed preemptively.

“No!” the boy claimed, with comical obviousness. “I’m… Charles’s cousin. Superman!” He put his hands on his hips in a heroic pose.

Erik blinked at him, uncertain if the boy was playing or really thought he had him fooled. “Superman… Xavier?” Erik questioned dryly.

The boy nodded eagerly. “I’m Superman, and I know _everything_!” he insisted. “I know you’re Erik!”

“No,” Erik denied in turn. At several points lately, this being one of them, he really did wish he wasn’t Erik Lehnsherr. “I’m Erik’s cousin, Fred.”

“Fred?” Charles repeated, studying Erik suspiciously. He had a lisp; Fred was Fwed, Erik was Aywick, and even his own name was pronounced Chawels. “Well, alright!” he agreed blithely, trying to play along. “What shall we play, Fred? How about superheroes?” He started racing in circles, arm outstretched like he was flying.

“I don’t want to play,” Erik told him. “Thank you,” he added belatedly. “Perhaps you should find your friends now.”

Charles’s expressive face took on a perplexed look. “But you’re supposed to be my friend,” he pointed out. “Er, Charles and Erik are supposed to be friends,” he corrected himself. “Come play with me!”

He tried to take Erik’s hand but Erik pulled away from the touch sharply. “I don’t play with babies,” he blurted, somewhat without meaning to.

“I’m not a baby!” Charles immediately howled with indignation, the sound swallowed up by the vegetation around them. Erik rolled his eyes, feeling his point had been proven.

The boy started stomping around the patch of grass, shouting, but it seemed to Erik that he might have been enjoying himself, instead of having a temper tantrum. It was hard to tell, Erik having little experience with younger children—his friend Emma had an Omega already, but Moira was only a couple years younger. Though, she did have a tendency to cry and whine. When this happened, Emma usually left her behind, so Erik tried to apply that technique here, even if it meant going back to the party.

“Where are you going?” Charles demanded, before he had taken two steps.

“Back to my parents,” Erik replied, with a sigh.

“Stay here and play with me!” Charles tried again. “Everyone else left because of _you_ , you have to stay and play with me!”

Erik did not like this rewriting of history. “They didn’t leave because of _me_ ,” he corrected. “I barely said anything to them!”

Charles did not accept this reasoning. “You’re here by yourself,” he noted probingly. “Are you hiding?”

“What? No,” Erik sputtered instantly. “Of course I’m not hiding. I’m just looking around.”

Charles was not buying his denial. “You’re hiding, you’re hiding!” he taunted, dancing around as Erik glared. Abruptly he stopped. “Why are you hiding?” he asked curiously. “Aren’t you excited to be here?”

That was not the word Erik would have chosen. “No,” he said harshly, annoyed. “What’s so exciting about it?”

“It’s a big party, and it’s all for _me_!” the boy enthused. “Er, I mean, Charles,” he corrected. “Oh, and Erik.”

Erik could never decide if he preferred to be forgotten, or not. Both stung in their own way. “Well, maybe Erik doesn’t like parties,” he snapped.

This was a foreign concept to Charles. “But parties are fun!” he asserted. “Everyone’s come to see Charles, and he’s going to get lots of presents and cake, and his mummy and daddy are so proud of him!”

The boy’s eyes shone a brilliant blue; Erik was not sure he had ever felt half the pure joy Charles seemed to be experiencing. For a second he envied him—things must be so much simpler when you wanted the same things your parents wanted for you. But Erik often felt maddeningly at odds with their goals for him.

“Well, what’s in it for Erik?” he demanded, as if the little boy would know. “What’s so great about this whole thing for him? He’s _twelve_ , you know,” he reminded Charles. “That’s pretty grown-up. I don’t think he’ll have much in common with a little kid.” Especially not one who couldn’t say his words right, and thought everything in the world was a gift to him.

“Erik’s an Alpha!” Charles stated, as if Erik didn’t realize that. “My daddy’s an Alpha. He takes care of me and my mummy. Erik is going to take of _Charles_!” There, problem solved, in Charles’s mind.

“Maybe Erik doesn’t want to do that,” Erik suggested. Just speaking hypothetically, of course.

“Why not?” asked Charles curiously, as if he couldn’t possibly imagine any reason.

“I guess it seems really simple to you,” Erik scoffed defensively. “Someone’s always taken care of you, so you just figure someone always will!” Charles frowned at his sharp tone, but Erik was getting himself worked up now. Why should Charles be so happy about this, when all Erik saw was being trapped on a long, straight path he didn’t choose? “Maybe Erik doesn’t want to. Maybe he doesn’t even like you!” It was the most cutting thing he could think to say, something that would give vent to the frustration steaming inside him.

Charles stared at him in astonishment for a moment, as if he had never contemplated that someone might not like him. Then his blue eyes welled up with tears and he opened his mouth to sob. “That’s a mean thing to say!” Charles accused moistly. “You’re mean! I don’t want to play with you anymore!”

“Well that’s too bad,” Erik shot back darkly. “We’re stuck together, aren’t we? No one cares what _we_ want.”

Rebellion rose up inside him, as it had many times in the last few weeks; he was a good boy, he did his homework and his chores, his duty by the synagogue and his extended family and his neighbors. That was what was expected of him. But _this_ was so much to ask, to dedicate his life to a stranger, especially someone he had nothing in common with!

Then the fury settled out into disgust, heavy and sticky, because Erik knew he wasn’t going to do anything about it, defy his parents and the arrangements they had made. All he was going to do, apparently, was be mean to a baby.

Erik sighed and took a step towards Charles. “I’m sorry,” he said, and if his tone was lacking enthusiasm, hopefully the boy wouldn’t notice. “I guess you’re—“

This was too late for Charles, who had already gotten worked up himself. “You’re supposed to take care of me forever and ever!” he sputtered indignantly. “My mummy said so! But you’re just mean! I’m going to tell on you!” And then he gave Erik a shove.

Normally a little Omega—small for his age, too—would hardly make a dent in Erik (so he liked to think), but the aggressive move caught the older boy off-guard, and he stumbled over his own feet and tumbled into a flower bed.

There went Erik’s dignity, and his suit, and he saw red. “I’m gonna tell on _you_!” he shot back, hoping this was a weapon Charles understood.

It was. The boy’s eyes widened, then he took off like a shot, presumably hoping to reach an adult and give _his_ side of the story first. The only thing Erik could think was, ‘Well, at least I’m alone now.’

After a long, defeated moment, Erik hauled himself off the ground, brushing the dirt and crushed leaves off his suit as best he could. He knew his parents would notice anyway. Charles was such a spoiled little _s—t_ , there was no way Erik was going to be able to talk his way out of this—it was perfectly obvious Charles was one of those little kids who could get away with murder by blinking his big blue eyes and scrunching his nose. Erik had never been that sort of kid.

Slowly he trudged back around the house, headed for the patio where the party was set up. His father intercepted him, and anything clever Erik had been planning went straight out of his head under the man’s disapproving gaze. “Where’ve you been?” Jakob asked. “And”—taking a closer look at his suit—“what happened to you?”

Erik hadn’t really been planning to tell on Charles. He wasn’t a tattletale, unlike _some_ people. And really—how stupid would he look, saying he got knocked down by a little kid, his Omega?

“I tripped,” Erik mumbled vaguely, eyes downcast.

His father walked him back to the party, lecturing all the way. Erik was too old to act foolishly. He was about to take on a big responsibility, and he needed to impress everyone here with his maturity and intelligence (which he was not so far doing). The family was here, his father’s business associates were here, _everyone_ was here—

And there was his mother. Talking to a man and woman who could only be Charles’s parents, the man holding Charles aloft like that was his only purpose in life. Erik’s stomach went cold, but then he realized everyone still seemed pleasant, and _not_ like they were discussing what a horrible person Erik was. He approached cautiously, his father’s hand still on his shoulder.

“Hello, you must be Erik!” said Charles’s father. “You don’t have a superstition about meeting your Omega before the ceremony, do you?”

“No, sir,” Erik assured him, eyes fixed on Charles. What was the little s—t planning? Was he just waiting for the opportune moment to strike?

“Oh, what happened—“ Erik’s mother said, spotting the dirt on his suit. “Did you spill something—“

“Mummy, Buddy got out!” Charles announced dramatically.

Immediately his mother looked around in alarm. “Where? Oh, that dog—“

“No, before,” Charles clarified. “In the backyard. And Erik chased him and caught him! And we put him back in the kitchen. That’s how Erik got dirty.”

Erik blinked up at the cherubic little Omega. So, they were going to start their relationship with a little mutual blackmail, hmm? Erik decided he could live with that. He made a note about what an accomplished liar Charles was, though. The adults all exclaimed over Erik’s helpfulness and self-sacrifice; modestly, he said little in return, and wondered if his parents really bought it.

“I helped, too!” Charles insisted stoutly, eager to get his share of the glory, falsehood or not.

“That’s my little Omega!” his mother praised, stroking his hair. “You know, Charles is so sensitive, all our pets just love him! Do you have any pets?”

“No,” replied Erik’s father. He did not care for pets. Edie quickly swooped in to ask about Sharon’s gardens.

After a few minutes, the adults decided it was time to part ways and prepare for the ceremony. Erik had not, in fact, become too filthy to participate; after a little careful attention with a wet napkin, his mother assured him the discoloration was hardly noticeable. By which he understood it would be glaringly obvious in every photo being taken, immortalized forever. Erik could only sigh.

The ceremony was held outside, owing to the nice weather, and was relatively brief, owing to the age of the participants. Charles and Erik had to walk down an aisle together in front of everyone—Erik kept a friendly hand on Charles’s shoulder, to prevent him from getting distracted and running off to play—and then they stood in front of an officiant, solemn and without squirming. At least, Erik did; apparently no one had given Charles this instruction, or he was unable to follow it.

They also had to say “I do” at the proper moment; given their ages it was largely meaningless, a way to let them participate publicly while their parents signed the legal document in the back room. There were ways to get out of these contracts. Erik had read the fine print—his father said to always do that—and there seemed to be a lot of loopholes. So when he got older (tall, chiseled, confident) and realized he was still bound to Charles (a messy, whiny baby, but slightly taller than now) Erik would have options.

He thought about this a lot throughout the ceremony, and afterwards at lunch, when he was seated next to Charles, who was clearly used to a certain level of service that was currently lacking.

“What’s this?” Charles asked, staring at the plate set before him.

“It’s a hot dog,” Erik pointed out. He had a hamburger, a much more adult sort of food.

“It’s _not_ a hot dog,” Charles countered. He dumped it out of the bun for a better look, spilling ketchup and pickle relish all over his potato chips. “Hot dogs are _small_. They’re only _this_ big.” His fingers indicated a length of roughly bite-sized.

“Well, cut it up, then it will be that small,” Erik advised sensibly. “Here.” Generously he offered Charles his knife.

The boy drew back in horror. “I’m not allowed to use _knives_ , Erik!” he insisted.

Erik could understand this was a wise precaution in general. “This one is just plastic,” he noted. “It’s not very sharp—“

“No!” Charles refused. Safety first. “Will you cut it up for me, Erik? Please?” The please came out like ‘pwease,’ grating on Erik’s nerves.

“No,” he denied, going back to his lunch. “Go find your mum if you want your food cut up.”

“Erik!” Charles whined. He sounded so helpless, like he was about to starve to death, and only Erik could save him—even though they were surrounded by other people, likely Charles’s relatives since Erik didn’t recognize them.

Erik cut up the hot dog. There was a certain satisfaction, he told himself, in being able to take care of someone properly, to see their needs fulfilled. A feeling of power, really, and specialness, because _only_ Erik could—

“Oh my G-d, how did you get so filthy?” Erik exclaimed in horror. He’d taken his attention off Charles for only a few moments—answering a question from a neighboring adult, typically inane, about his favorite subject in school—and when he looked back the little boy seemed to have smeared himself with ketchup and pickle relish, as if he was going off to war with other condiments. Erik felt vaguely nauseous looking at him.

Charles professed ignorance about his state of cleanliness. “Hot dogs are so good, Erik!” he enthused. “Hot dogs are my favorite food. What’s your favorite food?”

At this exact moment, nothing. “Where’s your mum?” Erik asked, looking around. “She should take you to the bathroom and get you cleaned off—“

“Mummy said _you_ would help me,” Charles reminded him. “Erik! I want to wash my hands! Won’t you help me?” As if suddenly now _Erik_ was the unreasonable one.

“Go by yourself,” he tried anyway.

“I can’t! I don’t know where to go!”

“It’s your own house!”

A swift study, Charles made the whine that had worked before. Erik vowed to resist. Charles increased his volume.

The Alpha woman sitting next to Charles leaned over. “Oh, Charles, do you need help getting cleaned up?” she asked. “Here, I’ll take you to the washroom—“

Erik frowned. He didn’t even know this woman. She had not seen fit to introduce herself to him, Alpha to Alpha, and now she was trying to take his Omega away, out of public view? Okay, she was probably someone Charles knew, maybe even a relative. But Charles was bound now, there were _protocols_ one followed.

Unless maybe she thought they didn’t apply, because to her Erik was just a little kid himself.

“No, thank you,” Erik cut in, before Charles could answer. “I’ll take him.” He stood and tried to steer Charles by the shoulders. “Come on. Don’t touch me!”

“Thank you, Erik!” Charles told him, excited at the attention. The little boy was, at least, polite, which was something Erik’s mother valued but Erik felt he hadn’t quite gotten the hang of yet himself.

Erik turned them towards the house, which was huge and ostentatious and thus hard to miss. Charles amused himself by walking with his arms stuck out in front of him, claiming he was a zombie. Considering what he was splattered with, he certainly looked the part.

The front doors were massive, like the entrance to a castle, and Erik pushed one open, leading to a huge, dim foyer. “Where’s the bathroom?” he whispered to Charles. This was the sort of place where even whispers echoed.

“I don’t know,” Charles shrugged.

Erik glared at him. “It’s _your_ house!” he repeated.

“We don’t come in this way,” Charles claimed.

Erik rolled his eyes—a house was surely excessive when one resident didn’t even recognize part of it—and headed for the first door he saw. This turned out to be a closet. Actually there were a lot of closets in this house, and also well-furnished rooms that seemed pretty useless, not being bathrooms.

“Erik!” Charles complained. “My face is getting itchy!”

Erik shut another closet door, not as hard as he wanted. “This is _your_ house and I’m trying to clean up _your_ mess,” he growled in frustration, “so try _helping_ instead of being a spoiled little sh—“ Charles blinked up at him owlishly and Erik caught himself. The little boy was a known tattler. “Schatzi,” Erik finished.

Charles’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?” he demanded. “Is that a bad word?”

“No, it means ‘sweetheart’ in German,” Erik replied loftily. “You can ask my mother.”

Mothers were obviously of unimpeachable character, and Charles grinned broadly. “Sweetheart!” he repeated happily, and embraced Erik.

Who muffled a scream of rage and pushed Charles back, checking his suit for further damage. Fortunately most of the ketchup and pickle relish had thoroughly dried onto Charles’s face. “I said try _helping_ , not making things worse,” he snapped anyway.

Charles nodded, unperturbed. “That might be a bathroom,” he suggested, pointing to a door, and indeed it was. Erik wondered how many others they’d passed, because Charles thought it was fun to keep on looking.

“Well, wash,” Erik indicated impatiently. Charles gave him a look which suggested Erik was very stupid, and he walked up to the sink. He could barely get his arms over it; there was no hope he could reach the faucet. “How can you even be alive?” Erik groaned. “How can such a tiny person function in the world?”

“I’m not tiny!” Charles asserted, with some offense. “Mummy says I’m getting bigger every day!”

There was obviously no point to expecting Charles to be reasonable, so Erik stopped trying. Instead he attempted to pick the little boy up and wedge him against the sink, so his hands could reach the stream of water. Charles wriggled and squirmed, however, and Erik got kicked a few times.

“Erik, I don’t _like_ this!” he protested, so Erik finally let him down, hands only partially cleaner and face still sticky. “In _my_ bathrooms there’s little stair-steps for me to climb, so I can reach the sink,” he revealed.

Erik looked around. “Well, I don’t see any here—Stop that!” he added sharply, as Charles began untucking his little button-down shirt. Was the child a nudist as well?

“There’s a red line on my tummy,” Charles noted with fascination, holding his shirt up.

Erik realized that must have come from the edge of the sink, and despite Charles’s brattiness, he felt bad. He hadn’t meant to _hurt_ the little boy. “Okay, let’s try this,” he sighed, taking a hand towel from the rack and wetting it. Charles did not seem to grasp what it was for when Erik gave it to him, however, so the older boy had to kneel down and scrub off Charles’s hands and face, and dab at the smudges on his clothes. His hair was a wild, fluffy mess and Erik tried to wet and tame it, like his mother used to do with him, but Charles grew antsy quickly. He liked the attention but not the standing still.

“Well, I guess that’s the best I can do,” Erik finally decided, pessimistically. The little boy was no longer _coated_ in grime, but he gave off a disheveled, grubby air that made Erik’s teeth grind. There just seemed to be no way to contain Charles, however, to clean him up properly and _freeze_ him that way. “Tuck your shirt back in,” Erik ordered, trying to figure out what to do with the soiled towel. In the end he settled for folding it neatly and leaving it on the side of the sink.

Charles grabbed his hand and bounced out of the bathroom. “Let’s go play in my room!” he suggested brightly. “I’ll show you my marble racetrack, it goes all around my room—“

“Well, I think we’d better get back to the party,” Erik countered, trying to retrace their earlier route. “People might be looking for us.” He wasn’t sure how long this clean-up had taken—it felt like hours—and he didn’t want his mother to worry about where he’d gone.

“Oh, that’s right,” Charles recalled. Every day of his life must be a party, Erik supposed, so one more didn’t stand out. But then Charles became very excited and began hopping around the hallway; with his hand in Erik’s it was like trying to hold a frog by a leash. “There’s going to be presents!” he exulted, voice echoing in the foyer. “So many presents! And cake and ice cream!”

Erik pictured Charles eating cake and ice cream. It was more like a pig rolling around in slop. “I’m not cleaning you up again,” he warned. “Someone else will have to do it.”

“I won’t get messy, Erik!” Charles claimed. He seemed sincere, though in complete ignorance of reality. “I love cake and ice cream! I hope it’s chocolate.”

They stepped from the dim interior of the house back into the bright sunlight of the yard, the party tents and tables colorful in the near distance. It _did_ look kind of festive, Erik admitted… if he could occasionally glance at it from his window while safely inside, or maybe walk through the crowd invisibly. With all the noise and movement Charles made, it was impossible to go anywhere unnoticed, and when Charles tugged on his hand again, feeling restrained, Erik let him go.

The little boy dashed ahead, energetic and golden, and people’s heads turned as he passed, giving him fond looks. Erik didn’t know what sort of looks people gave _him_ —not necessarily disapproving, but sometimes he felt like he would rather be ignored. Otherwise people tended to tell him what to do, which he really hated.

Charles came darting back to him, bringing all those pairs of eyes with him, and grabbed onto Erik’s hand joyfully. “Come on, Erik!” he insisted. “Let’s go have fun!”

Erik tried to shake him off. “It’s okay, you go ahead,” he suggested. “Go find some cake.”

“But I want you to come too, Erik!” Charles told him. “I don’t want you to get left behind!”

“I won’t be left behind,” Erik assured him, trying to disentangle himself. “I’m… I’m just walking.”

“Oh, there’s my little bunny!” cooed Charles’s mother, finally checking on her child. She bent down to cuddle with him. “Are you ready to open some presents?”

“Yes, yes!” Charles enthused. “Are there presents for Erik?” It was nice of him to ask, Erik told himself, even as this made Mrs. Xavier pay attention to him.

“Of course!” she promised cheerfully. “There’s a big pile of presents for both of you!”

Charles whooped and hollered at this news, but he probably would’ve found reason to do that anyway. Erik pasted a smile on his face, though he feared it was getting worn out today.

He was used to getting lots of presents, from his father’s business associates—of course, that was generous of them, but Erik saw the gifts for what they were, a professional transaction with his father. They were generic objects, something common for a male Alpha his age; or increasingly, checks and gift cards. Checks went in Erik’s bank account for his college savings; everything else was assessed by his parents and he might get to keep a _few_ things that, by coincidence, he actually wanted, but the majority would be donated. Erik didn’t need that many _things_ around, and he didn’t need to puff himself up with the false feeling that so many people cared about him personally.

He suspected Charles’s parents had a different philosophy.

Charles was certainly adept at opening gifts, at least, and since he was still a little kid, his gifts were admittedly more interesting to look at for the audience—Lego sets, stuffed animals, colorful board games, art supplies. He opened them with zest, shredding the paper gleefully and beaming as though each item was the only one in the world. He readily thanked and embraced every giver who was identified, and Erik could see how they enjoyed it—even the people who had only given a gift because they owed something to Mr. Xavier were, for a moment, drawn in by Charles’s energy. It was a magical ability, and Erik found himself envious of it.

In the background, Erik quietly opened his own gifts, the checks and gift cards and a few books and videos (mostly that he already had, or didn’t want). His mother was keeping track of them all so he could write thank-you notes later, but if the person was nearby he went up and thanked them individually. It was not the mystical connection Charles was able to forge so spontaneously, but it was good manners.

“Thank you for the book, Uncle Peter,” he told his father’s long-time friend and business associate, giving him a hug. Uncle Peter was nice to hug because he didn’t make it weird. And the book was one Erik actually wanted.

“You’re welcome,” Uncle Peter replied pleasantly. “So how are you feeling? It’s been a big day.”

“Tired,” Erik confessed. “Charles is—“ With a yowl of delight, the little boy leaped up onto the gift table to rock out with a toy guitar someone had just given him, and cameras flashed as if he really _was_ a rock star. “He’s very energetic,” Erik finally said, trying to sound upbeat. He didn’t want to seem like he was complaining about who his parents had chosen for him to spend his life with.

Uncle Peter laughed knowingly. “Yes, he’s a handful,” he agreed. “I think you’ll get used to each other, though. That’s why it’s good to start early.” Erik supposed that did make sense, and if he was going to be stuck with Charles, he wanted as long as possible to get used to him—he had a feeling he would need it.

After presents came the legendary cake and ice cream, indeed with chocolate. Erik gave Charles a wide berth and went to sit with his mother, feeling like he had more than fulfilled his duty for the day. Mutti looked him up and down with that assessing gaze of hers, then put her arm around his shoulders. “I’m so proud of you, Erik,” she told him quietly, as he toyed with the dessert. “It’s not easy to look after someone, is it? But I think you’ll be so good at it.”

That made him feel a little better. Not that he’d felt _bad_ —he had known for a long time that someday he would be here, starting an early bond with an Omega his parents had chosen, and that there would be responsibilities he was expected to fulfill. Just… the details were a little different than he’d been hoping for. Maybe someone closer to his own age, who could be his friend, like Emma and Moira—they were more like sisters and could do fun things together. But Charles was so much younger, and so different in personality—Erik feared that he would spend the next few years just racing to keep up with him, more babysitter than companion.

Erik saw Charles briefly after dessert—he was smeared with cake and ice cream, and his mother walked him back to the house. When they returned, _both_ had changed clothes. Charles then proceeded to run around with the other little kids, generously sharing his new toys, while Erik resisted invitations to join them and stuck close to his mother and the other grown-ups. He was supposed to be one, after all, right? Almost, anyway.

Finally people started to leave, and Erik was too tired to make much effort anymore. Charles found him sitting quietly by himself at a table, which Erik had judged was well-placed so his parents could see him (and not think he’d wandered off to play happily) but without attracting too much attention (as if he was shy, and secretly hoping someone would draw him out).

“Hello, Erik!” Charles said brightly. “Wasn’t this the best day ever?”

“Sure,” Erik replied without enthusiasm. “Uh, you got a lot of presents,” he added, when Charles seemed to expect more of a response.

“Yeah, that was so much fun!” Charles agreed. He clambered, with Erik’s help, onto a nearby chair. “Did _you_ have fun, Erik?” he asked suddenly, his big blue eyes far too probing for such a little kid.

Erik meant to just say yes and blow him off. “I don’t really like having lots of people around,” he confessed instead. “Especially people I don’t know.”

He thought maybe Charles would make fun of him, or not understand at all. But instead he nodded thoughtfully. “Well, we know each other now, Erik!” he pointed out, and Erik had to smile a little at that.

“Yeah, I guess we do.” He had been nervous about what Charles would be like before meeting him, and slightly horrified afterwards; but now, at the end of the day, Erik had the sense that at least that hurdle had been leaped. Maybe now that he _knew_ , he could prepare.

“We’re going to have fireworks later!” Charles chattered. “You can sit by me!”

“I think I have to go home soon,” Erik responded, hoping desperately this was true. His parents had said ‘dinner at home’ when they had gone over the day’s plan, and nothing about fireworks.

“Oh.” Charles seemed genuinely disappointed. “I bet you don’t like fireworks,” he predicted sagely, and Erik shook his head.

“Not really, no.”

Charles jumped off the chair recklessly and gave Erik a hug. “Well, I like you anyway, Erik!” he asserted. “My mummy was so happy you helped me wash up! She said you’re going to take good care of me.”

“When I’m older,” Erik reminded him quickly, in case Charles thought he was being engaged as a nanny-slash-playmate starting now.

“I guess I’ll be older, too,” Charles mused. His expression was slightly plotting, as if imagining what glorious mischief he could get up to with more height and better hand-eye coordination. Or maybe that was just Erik’s worry. “Well, good-bye, Erik!”

“Good-bye, Charles.” The little boy trotted off.

****

Charles@6, Erik@12

Erik was beginning to think his parents were serious about this whole bonding thing.

Emma told him she hadn’t seen Moira for months after their bonding ceremony, but then Moira’s family moved into Emma’s apartment building and she was around _all the time_. Erik didn’t think Charles’s family was going to move to his building. But it seemed like _Charles_ was—it was just the next weekend, and here he was in Erik’s home, waiting when Erik got home from school, and he wasn’t going to leave until Sunday afternoon.

“You said I could go to Azazel’s tomorrow,” Erik reminded his mother in a low voice as he helped fix dinner, while Charles was transfixed by cartoons in the living room.

“Just take Charles with you,” she advised, as if that wasn’t the most ridiculous idea _ever_. “Or invite Azazel over here instead. He’ll understand, once his parents find him an Omega,” she added, seeing Erik’s expression.

Erik suffered through dinner and was for once glad for clean-up chores, which Charles was excused from as Mutti had already determined he just made a bigger mess. Then Erik eagerly did his homework, even though it was only Friday; Charles interrupted him only seven or eight times. Then because Charles was little, he had to take his bath and go to bed early, leaving Erik blissfully free to do what he wanted, and almost able to forget the small intruder lurking in the spare room.

Almost.

There was a knock on his bedroom door and then it was pushed open before Erik could respond. “Hey—“ he started to protest, but Charles bounced right in and climbed up on the bed where Erik was reading. “Did I _say_ you could come in?” Erik snapped, but Charles ignored this.

“Erik, whatcha doing?” he wanted to know.

“Reading,” Erik replied brusquely, trying to ignore him. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?”

“I can’t sleep, Erik!” the little boy insisted. The words came out like ‘sweep’ and ‘Aywick.’ “What book are you reading? Is it good? What’s it about? Will you read it to me?” He rattled off questions before Erik could answer the first ones, not that he wanted to answer anyway.

“No,” Erik told him shortly. “Go back to bed.”

“But it’s scary, Erik!” Charles claimed, tugging on his arm. “It’s scary in a new place.”

“There’s nothing scary here,” Erik informed him. “Your house is much scarier, this is just an apartment.” He tried to keep reading.

“But Erik!” Charles whined, his voice reaching a pitch that grated on Erik’s last nerve—and worse, that his parents might hear, and blame Erik for somehow.

He snapped his book shut with a crack that made Charles jump. “What do you want?” he demanded. “You’re already staying in my house, barging in on my friends, getting in my way! What else is it you think I can do for you?”

The sarcasm was not lost on the younger boy, who screwed his face up in a pout. “My mummy said you would look after me!” he told Erik. “That’s your _job_!”

“Well nobody asked me if I _wanted_ that job, did they?” Erik grumbled, opening his book again. Maybe Charles would go away if he could be successfully ignored.

But that was a big _if_. The small boy stayed on the bed, playing with the stuffed animal he’d brought with him. Erik thought it was a rabbit. Actually Charles had arrived at their apartment with one small suitcase of clothes, and one _big_ bag of toys. Which was good, because Erik wasn’t sharing any of his toys with him.

He seemed small for his age, though Erik didn’t hang around little kids much so he didn’t know. And his nose was too big for his face. And he was loud and sticky and spoiled, and had pushed his way completely into Erik’s life, when Erik had been doing just fine without him, thank you very much.

Erik wondered briefly what Charles’s parents were doing this weekend without him, and if they were glad to pawn him off on someone else for a change. Then he felt mean; at least Erik was old enough to understand what was going on, and _he_ was still nervous about having to spend a weekend at Charles’s house later this month. With Charles being just a baby, who had always been looked after and given whatever he wanted, things probably seemed pretty strange to him.

Maybe even scary.

Charles appeared to be whispering into the stuffed rabbit’s ear. “What are you doing?” Erik asked in annoyance, though prudence said he should keep ignoring him.

Charles turned his nose up at him. “I’m having a _private_ conversation with Mr. Carrots!” he said haughtily.

“Mr. Carrots,” Erik scoffed. “That’s your rabbit, huh?”

“Yes.” Charles looked around Erik’s room. “Where’s _your_ stuffed animals?”

“I don’t have any, because I’m not a baby,” Erik replied defensively.

“I’m not a baby!” Charles hollered with indignation, and Erik shushed him, pulling him close to smother his wail. Charles snuggled comfortably into his arms, though, like he’d always been there.

“Quit being so loud,” Erik advised him when he’d calmed. “You’re supposed to be in bed, you’ll get in trouble if you’re not.”

“I never get in trouble,” Charles countered matter-of-factly, and Erik rolled his eyes.

“I believe _that_ ,” he assured the boy.

Charles pointed at Erik’s dresser. “There’s a teddy bear,” he noted triumphantly.

Erik blinked, having grown too used to seeing it. “Oh, that’s my old bear from when I was a—little,” he clarified, narrowly avoiding the b-word. “I don’t play with him anymore.”

Charles’s eyes widened comically. “You don’t? He must be so lonely!” he said sadly.

“No he isn’t, because he’s just a toy,” Erik corrected with exasperation. “He’s not _real_.”

He could see Charles did not entirely believe this. “What’s his name?”

“Bear.”

“Just Bear?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Erik snapped, feeling judged for his lack of creativity.

“Will you introduce us?” Charles inquired politely.

“No,” Erik denied. Then he thought of something, and turned a hard gaze on Charles. “He’s _my_ bear,” he emphasized. “You’d better not touch him. For any reason. Understand?” Charles nodded vigorously. “Or else—something unpleasant will happen to you.” He trusted Charles had enough imagination to conjure up something worse than Erik could think of. “And to Mr. Carrots,” he added for good measure.

Charles clutched his rabbit tightly and drew away from Erik, and Erik began to wonder if he had laid it on too thick. “I won’t touch your bear, Erik, I promise!” he vowed. “Please don’t hurt Mr. Carrots!”

Tears were forming in Charles’s big blue eyes, and Erik felt like a heel. “I won’t, I won’t,” he insisted in a softer tone. “Just—don’t touch my stuff, okay? And then we won’t have any problems.”

“I don’t want to have any problems, Erik,” Charles assured him.

“Okay then.” Erik felt he still had something to make up for. “Do you—want me to tuck you back in bed?”

Charles perked up at this suggestion. “Will you read me a story?” he negotiated.

“No,” Erik started to deny. Charles’s eyes slid to Bear, then to Mr. Carrots, then back to Erik, and the Alpha realized his Omega was already a master at manipulation. “Fine,” Erik reversed with a sigh, and Charles grinned broadly, with such sincerity, that Erik felt slightly less put-upon. It seemed rare that he could make someone so happy. “Come on.”

Charles clung to his hand as they left Erik’s room and returned to the spare bedroom where Charles was staying. When Erik flipped on the light he saw that the bed was _covered_ in stuffed animals. “How can you sleep with all that junk in the bed?” he demanded without thinking.

“They’re not _junk_!” Charles countered hotly, pulling away from Erik to rescue a penguin that had fallen on the floor. “They’re my friends!”

Erik rolled his eyes; only _babies_ had imaginary friends, but clearly there was no use saying that. “Well get in bed,” he prompted. “If there’s _room_.”

Charles climbed up into the bed and began to arrange the toys around him. “This is Webby and MacGruffin and Aloysius and Mrs. Purr—“ Erik cut him off with a look. “This is Erik,” Charles continued to the animals defiantly. “He’s too _grown-up_ to have friends.”

“I so have friends,” Erik corrected sharply. “I’m going to see one tomorrow. I guess _you_ have to come along. Try not to embarrass me.” He thought there was little hope of that, Charles being Charles and Azazel being Azazel. “So, lay down.”

Charles scootched farther under the covers, and Erik retrieved a dog that was dislodged. “What are you going to read to me?” Charles reminded Erik. “Nothing scary!”

Erik had carried his _Harry Potter_ book in with him. “We’ll start this,” he decided. “You let me know if it’s too scary.” Who knew what frightened little kids?

“What’s it about?” Charles wanted to know, before Erik could start reading.

Erik took the opportunity to push some toys out of the way, so he could get more comfortable on the bed, and Charles rearranged them with a chiding look. “It’s about this boy who finds out he’s a wizard,” Erik described, “and starts going to this special school for wizards—“

“Erik, what’s a wizard?” Charles interrupted.

Erik huffed. “You talk to toy rabbits and you don’t know what a wizard is?” He’d assumed Charles’s head was filled with fairytale terms.

His comment was lost on the younger boy, however. “Is a wizard like a rabbit?” Charles asked in confusion.

“No, a wizard is _not_ like a wabbit— _rabbit_ ,” Erik corrected himself with disgust. He hoped Charles’s speech impediment wouldn’t rub off on him. “A wizard is a person who can do magic.”

“Are they bad?”

“Well it depends on the wizard,” Erik replied sensibly. “Like with regular people, some are good and some are bad.” He paused, to see if Charles had additional questions, or was perhaps getting tired already. “Do you want me to read this or not?”

Charles nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, please read to me, Erik!”

“Okay. Lay down. _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_ , by J.K.—“

“Erik, what’s a sorcerer?” Charles wanted to know. He had a hard time saying the word.

“It’s like a wizard, someone who can do magic,” Erik explained briskly. “Quit interrupting so much. Lay _down_. Okay…”

****

Charles@6, Erik@12

Whenever Charles was staying with Erik’s family for the weekend—and that seemed to be _always_ lately, unless Erik was staying with _them_ —he had to go wherever Erik went, even when Erik hung out with his friends. Which was _so irritating_ , because Charles was so much younger, and couldn’t keep up with the things they wanted to do.

His friend Emma at least knew what Erik was going through, having a bonded Omega herself; but if Moira got too annoying, Emma could just send her home to her family’s apartment in the same building. Sometimes Moira was useful for playing with Charles, but in the end they always wanted to join the Alphas.

As a concession to the smaller children the group was playing hide and seek, just for a little while until they went back to more important things. Emma lived in a big, ornate, pre-war apartment with lots of nooks and crannies to hide in, so there was at least some challenge to it. Charles usually gave himself away by giggling at his clever hiding spot, though.

Azazel was currently It, and he was stalking through the ballroom, which now held extra furniture. Erik watched him warily from behind a column, gauging the likelihood of success for a run at the door that constituted home base. Suddenly there was a giggle from behind a couch, and Erik rolled his eyes. Now Charles would be tagged It and Erik would have to sacrifice himself soon to prevent whining about being abandoned.

Azazel headed towards the giggle and Charles shot out from his hiding place, making a desperate run for the door. For a moment it seemed like he might actually make it; then Azazel stretched and grabbed at him, and they both tripped and went tumbling to the floor, knocking over some wicker baskets.

Alphas were used to that sort of thing and Azazel popped back up, about to declare a new It. But Omegas were different, and Charles clutched his knee and began to cry. Driven by an instinct he didn’t understand, Erik was already running towards him, heedless of his place in the game. “Ow!” Charles sobbed. “You knocked me down! You’re mean! Errrrrriiiiikkkkk!”

“What’d you do that for?” Erik snapped at Azazel, kneeling down next to Charles. “Let me see—“ The boy engulfed him like an octopus, preventing Erik from examining his injury.

“That’s the game!” Azazel pointed out defensively, as Emma and Moira emerged from their hiding spots to see what was going on.

“My knee hurts!” Charles reminded everyone, barely coherent.

“You were too rough with him!” Erik chided Azazel. Why couldn’t he understand that? They were twice as old as Charles, and more than twice as big. “He’s just a baby.”

“I’m not a baby!” Charles wailed, insult added to injury.

Erik clutched him to his chest. “You’re _my_ baby,” he told Charles, so matter-of-factly that Azazel, standing there sputtering in frustration, couldn’t even tease him for it. This calmed Charles; he was thrilled to be Erik’s anything, and he settled down so Erik could see his knee, which was only a little red.

“Let’s go watch TV for a while,” Emma suggested to Azazel and Moira prudently. She could tell when Erik would rather be alone with his Omega.

Azazel followed her helplessly. “It was just an accident…” he insisted, now feeling guilty.

Emma didn’t blame him, however. “You know how he is about him,” she pointed out with a shrug. “Come on.” She took Moira’s hand, feeling a little proprietary herself.

Alone in the ballroom, Erik pulled Charles onto his lap and let him snuggle a little. It felt nice, like having a pet to hold, maybe. Erik’s mother liked to hug him but his father thought he was too old for that sort of thing now.

“Are you better now?” Erik asked him, feeling very patient and generous. His mother was going to be so proud of him when he told her about this.

“Yes, Erik!” Charles assured him, cuddling in. “Why did Azazel push me?”

“He didn’t mean to, he was just playing,” Erik assured him. “He just forgot to be careful.” One always had to be careful with one’s Omega.

“Can we play hide and seek more?” Charles asked eagerly, wiping his damp face on Erik’s shirt.

Erik bore it maturely. “No, we have to be polite and go see what the others are doing,” he sighed. He liked his friends, of course, but sometimes navigating social situations tired him out. Should he apologize to Azazel for snapping at him? He would have to see what his friend’s attitude was. “Probably we’ll watch TV for a while.” He made Charles get up, the boy warm and surprisingly heavy.

“Cartoons?” Charles asked hopefully, grabbing on to Erik’s hand as they headed for the door. “I like Bugs Bunny!”

“I dunno, Schatzi,” Erik responded negatively. Probably it would be music videos, but Charles liked dancing to those. “We’ll watch Bugs Bunny when we get home.”

“Okay, Erik!” Charles agreed cheerfully, all trace of distress gone. Hopefully, he would have only good things to report back to his own parents about Erik.

****

Charles@7, Erik@13

A birthday wasn’t a private thing, especially a milestone like thirteen. For the synagogue, there was a ceremony, and Erik read from the Torah; for his father, there was a bar mitzvah, to which all his business colleagues were invited. A little party at home was all Erik wanted for himself, with just his parents.

“Does he _have_ to come?” Erik asked his mother as they did dishes together. He tried hard not to whine, as that wasn’t very mature. “Can’t it just be the three of us?”

His mother was sympathetic but firm. “He’s your Omega, of course he wants to celebrate your birthday with you!” she pointed out, and Erik huffed and rolled his eyes. “I talked to Sharon—he’s picked out a present for you, and he’s so excited to be included.”

Erik was unmoved. “He just—takes over,” he muttered, drying a dish with more concentration than it required.

“He’s lively,” his mother rephrased. She put another dish in his side of the sink. “It will be useful someday,” she predicted. “When he can take the attention off you.”

“But at my own birthday party!” Erik protested. Charles had been a big hit at Erik’s bar mitzvah, and Erik had been hoping against hope that that would be all he had to endure.

“It’ll just be the four of us,” his mother reminded him, in a reassuring tone. It was never to be _three_ now, always _four_. “Charles is going to share all your special times, and you’ll share his.” Erik had heard this before; the enormity of it scared him sometimes. “You’ll get used to each other,” she added, more gently.

Erik was not so sure about that.

**

All the money Erik got for his birthday went into his college fund; he didn’t need to save up to buy anything, because his parents bought him what he needed, just for being a member of the family. That was the same reason he did his chores, not for any allowance. And sometimes on special occasions, his parents bought him things he didn’t need but merely wanted. Not enough to spoil him, though.

Unlike _some_ people.

“Is this _all_ your presents?” Charles wanted to know, surveying the wrapped packages on the table. “Where’s the rest?”

Erik rolled his eyes. “There aren’t any more, I don’t _need_ any more.” He was making sure Charles didn’t try to open any.

“Well, you got lots of presents at your other party,” Charles remembered, more satisfied.

“I didn’t really keep those,” Erik reminded him. He’d had to stop Charles from tearing into some of the packaging at the time, so the gifts could still be donated in ‘new’ condition.

“That’s so weird,” Charles judged dubiously. His own birthday party had been a few weeks earlier, a massive carnival of lights and noise and people and sugar, with an enormous pile of presents. Most were as generic as the ones Erik had received, and also from his parents’ business associates; but Charles loved them all and stashed them away in his enormous bedroom, like a squirrel hoarding nuts for the winter. To his credit Charles was generous and would readily share if _asked_ ; but he would not have stood for a dictate removing any gift he’d already set eyes on. Not that his parents would dare do that.

“Are you ready for the cake?” Erik’s mother called from the kitchen.

“Yes!” Charles responded excitedly, and Erik pushed him away from the presents.

“Yes, please!” Erik added, and his mother came in carrying the cake with its lit candles, her face shining above it. Erik held onto Charles so he couldn’t run in front of her.

His father joined them from his office and they sang happy birthday (Charles loudest of all), and Erik blew out the candles. Then they each had some cake and ice cream, Charles managing to smear himself with it and leave a debris field around his chair.

“When are we going to open presents?” Charles asked.

“There’s no _we_ , they’re _my_ presents,” Erik couldn’t help correcting him.

“Go wash your hands and face first, Gummibärchen,” Edie told Charles, needing him safely out of the way while she cleaned up after him. “Erik,” she prompted, and he sighed and stood.

“Come on,” he told Charles, maneuvering him out of his chair by his shoulders. “No, don’t touch me, you’re a mess!”

“That cake was so good, Erik!” Charles insisted as Erik took him to the bathroom. “Can we have more?”

“No. Don’t _touch_ anything,” Erik repeated sharply, as Charles left chocolate fingerprints on the sink. Erik dragged over a little stool and Charles climbed up on it, holding his hands patiently under the water as Erik washed them.

His patience gave out, however, when Erik tried to scrub his face clean. “Hold still,” Erik ordered fruitlessly.

“It’s cold!” Charles complained. “And scratchy! I have _soft_ washcloths at home!”

“Well, go—“ Erik was about to say, ‘go back there,’ but Charles might squawk, and then Erik would get in trouble. “Well too bad,” he said instead, in the same rough tone, which never seemed to bother Charles.

Erik next wiped what mess he could off the younger boy’s clothes. Charles did not offer to do any of it himself, and seemed merely bemused, like he was tolerating some eccentricity of Erik’s.

The vacuum cleaner started up in the other room. “Hear that? Mutti has to run the vacuum to clean up after you,” Erik pointed out. “Why do you have to make such a mess all the time?”

Charles shrugged. “Daddy says you _should_ make a mess when you eat dessert!” he claimed. “Or else it wasn’t very good.” Erik rolled his eyes but knew better than to criticize Charles’s father to him.

“Alright, come on,” he said, judging the boy as clean as possible.

“Are we going to open presents now?” Charles repeated eagerly, and Erik stopped him in the hall, out of earshot of his parents.

“Listen, it’s _my_ birthday, not _yours_ ,” he said again, putting more force behind it. “They’re _my_ presents, not _yours_. So don’t touch them!”

“I _know_!” Charles insisted, as if Erik was very stupid for emphasizing this. “I just like opening presents! I can help if you get tired,” he offered nobly.

“I won’t get tired,” Erik snapped. “So don’t help. Come on.” Just to be difficult Charles balked at being dragged along, so Erik let him go, only to be nearly knocked down as the boy pushed past him.

“Present time!” Charles hollered, making for the table.

Fortunately Erik’s father intercepted him. “Are you excited to see Erik open his presents?” Jakob asked, holding Charles at a safe distance away from the packages.

“Yeah, uh-huh!” Charles replied enthusiastically.

“Which one is from you?” Jakob continued unnecessarily, and Charles nearly tumbled out of his arms pointing at a lumpy shape, the paper wrinkled and heavily taped.

“That’s from me!” he announced. “I wrapped it myself! Open that one first, Erik!”

Erik sat down at the table, surveying the small assembly of gifts. “I think I’ll start here,” he decided instead, selecting a neat, rectangular package.

Charles wanted to guess what was under the wrapping, usually something ridiculous like an elephant, and then when Erik unwrapped the book or video game or movie, Charles demanded that the title be read to him. “Oh, Azazel has that, doesn’t he?” he remembered of one game. “It’s so hard! We can play it together, but you have to get me through the hard parts, Erik!” Of a book, “Are you going to read that to me tonight, Erik? I want you to read it to me!” Of a movie, “When can we watch this, Erik? Is it scary? I’m not supposed to watch scary things!”

“Well, you shouldn’t watch this, then,” Erik tried to claim, of the _Star Wars_ trilogy. “It’s pretty scary.” Charles would probably be traumatized by the Ewok deaths in _Return of the Jedi_ , since they looked just like his beloved stuffed animals.

“Open my present next, Erik!” Charles insisted once again, pushing the lumpy package towards him, and his mother gave him a _look_.

“Okay,” Erik agreed. He couldn’t help sighing as he spoke, but Charles was too ecstatic to notice.

“It’s the best present _ever_ , Erik!” Charles claimed. “Mummy and I went to the store and I picked it out all by myself! And I wrapped it myself, too, Mummy just did some of the cutting for me.” Charles was too careless to be allowed sharp objects.

“So you said,” Erik remarked flatly, tugging at the paper. The item beneath was soft; Erik guessed it was probably clothing, like a sweatshirt that had gotten wadded up as Charles wrestled with it. He hoped it was the right size, or at least too big as Charles would insist he put it on right—

The gift began to emerge, the paper falling away, and Erik stared at it.

It was a teddy bear.

A _g-----n_ teddy bear, for a male Alpha turning thirteen, whose only stuffed animal was kept up on a shelf because he _didn’t play with baby toys—_

Erik took a breath and released it, chest trembling slightly with incandescent fury. Then he looked up at Charles across the table. The Omega’s blue eyes were bright with joy, and an eager grin split his face, freckles crinkling on his nose.

Charles had given him something that he, Charles, would really love. It wasn’t a teddy bear, Erik realized slowly, but something Charles saw as happiness and fun and comfort, like the dozen stuffed animals who crowded around him in bed at night, that he talked to and played with and seemed to think were actually alive on some level.

He had given Erik a new friend.

The silence stretched out, and Charles’s smile began to wobble. “What do you think?” he asked Erik. “Don’t you like him?”

Charles was his Omega, and Erik suddenly felt that he could never, ever be allowed to be unhappy, as long as Erik could help it. Erik smiled at him. “Yeah, it’s great,” he enthused, watching Charles’s response carefully and altering his tone accordingly. “It’s a really great bear, Charles. Why don’t you come here, and show me what you like best about it?”

Charles practically bolted from his chair, rarely invited to sit on Erik’s lap, and hugged the teddy bear to him adoringly. “He’s so soft!” he described. “But _not_ floppy, he can sit up on his own.” This was an important requirement, for play value. “And his fur is so silky! But not too long. And see how his nose is soft and velvety? Some of the bears had _hard_ noses, and that’s not good to cuddle with.” Charles spoke as an authority on the subject.

“Wow, you really put a lot of thought into it,” Erik praised, which was just what Charles wanted to hear.

“Yes, there were _so many_ stuffed animals at the store, and I checked them all, Erik!” Charles told him, still snuggling the bear. “To find the perfect one just for you!”

“Thank you, Schatzi,” Erik replied. If he lacked _quite_ a realistic level of sincerity, Charles didn’t notice. “You did a really great job. Would you—would you like to help me open another present?” he offered, and Charles became, if possible, even more animated.

“Yes! I can help you, Erik!” he insisted, grabbing for a package. “How about this one?” He was already tearing the paper.

“Sure. What do you think it is?” Erik asked. His mother surreptitiously patted him on the shoulder, and he was proud he could be patient and generous with Charles.

“Maybe it’s a jaguar!” Charles suggested randomly, and they all laughed.

“Maybe so,” Erik agreed. “Be careful, don’t cut yourself…”

****

Charles@7, Erik@13

The muffled shout, followed by a high-pitched squeal, drew Edie swiftly from the kitchen to the hallway. Charles was rapidly fleeing Erik’s bedroom, with Erik in hot pursuit, his face contorted with fury.

“Stay out of my room!” Erik yelled at the smaller boy. “I told you not to touch my stuff!”

Seeing Edie, Charles diverted to the safe harbor of her arms. “Mutti! He’s yelling at me!” he whined.

“He got in my room, and he knocked all my books over, and he was _climbing_ on things—“

“I wanted to invite Dr. Honey to my tea party with Webby!” Charles explained earnestly, clutching his stuffed penguin. He had been allowed to bestow a name on the teddy bear he had given Erik for his birthday.

“They’re _my_ things, I told you _never_ to touch them—“

“But I just wanted to play with Erik, Mutti—“

“Don’t call her Mutti!” Erik screamed, his face red. “She’s not _your_ mother!”

At this, Charles burst into tears in Edie’s arms. “You’re mean and I don’t like it here!” he wailed at Erik. “I want to go home! I want my mummy!”

Triage was required here, and Edie pulled the small boy close. “Shh, shh, Gummibärchen,” she soothed. Erik started to sputter, working himself up again. “Erik, go to your room,” she ordered, and his eyes widened with shock and betrayal. She hated to see that; but Erik was a strong boy—a young man—whereas Charles was so much younger and less resilient, and needed her comfort more right now. Erik stomped back to his room and slammed the door, and she turned her focus to Charles. Of course, she would never forget about her son; but maybe this time, it wasn’t _her_ he needed to hear from.

**

Erik stayed in his room for a long time. The emotions churning through him were powerful and scary, and they didn’t feel good. He had taught himself ways to calm down, be patient, not show what he was thinking; they were invaluable in his everyday life, like at school. But Charles challenged every one of them with his persistence, his constant _presence_ —Erik was used to his home being his sanctuary, and now his ability to relax here was being steadily eroded.

After he cooled off he did feel embarrassed about his outburst—his anger was justified, he thought as he cleaned up the mess Charles had made, but he could have expressed it better, in the sense that he doubted Charles had learned anything from it. Play with Erik, indeed—Erik was not there just to play with a baby, he had homework to do, which he had already put off one evening for Charles, so they could play silly games _last_ night. Charles might not have much homework yet, but Erik’s schooling was _serious_.

After a while there was a knock on Erik’s door, too high up to be Charles (who didn’t knock anyway) and too forceful to be his mother. Anxiety began to gather in his stomach again. “Come in,” he said, and his father looked in.

“Hi,” he opened. “May I come in?”

“Sure,” Erik allowed, and his father entered the bedroom. He glanced around, and Erik knew he would find the room straightened, everything orderly and reasonably clean. Everything, once again, in its place.

“So,” Jakob went on. This was clearly awkward for him; he preferred to let Erik’s mother handle the personal conversations. “I heard there was an issue today.”

Erik sat down on his bed, implicitly giving his father permission to do the same. “Charles got in my room while I was doing homework in the kitchen, sir,” he explained, trying to keep his description factual. “He knocked over all my books and other things from my shelves, and was climbing on the furniture.”

His father nodded. “I can see how that would be very frustrating,” he agreed. “He does kind of… change things wherever he goes, doesn’t he?”

That was an overly polite way to put it, in Erik’s opinion, but he was elated that someone else understood. “Exactly!” he asserted. “He’s always messing with my stuff, pestering me, underfoot—“ He silenced himself, not wanting to get on a rant.

“You’re an Alpha,” he father acknowledged, with a touch of pride. “You’re territorial.”

“Yes,” Erik concurred emphatically. Alphas understood that kind of thing. Omegas, well—they just didn’t think the same way. “If he could just stay out of my room—“

“You want to draw a line, a boundary, around your territory,” his father went on, knowing precisely how Erik felt. “And defend it against all intruders.”

“Yes.” Jakob nodded again, pondering the issue. “Can you just make it a rule that Charles can’t come in my room, sir?” Erik asked, a bit desperately. “Then I could do my homework in here, in peace. If he really got in trouble—“ Charles did not often get in trouble, not with any real consequences, which Erik thought was so unfair.

“You know, I had the same problem with your mother, when we were first bonded,” his father recalled, unexpectedly. “She lived nearby, and she was over all the time, every night for supper. It really drove me crazy. Your grandparents were busy with the other little kids, and I was supposed to look after her.” He grimaced, in a way that Erik did not associate with his father talking about his mother. He was normally so appreciative and respectful. “You know, she didn’t want to do anything _I_ wanted to do, my friends were bored with her, she was always in my room. It was really tough.”

“But you and Mutti get along so well,” Erik finally blurted. That was what he had always seen, and imagined. But part of growing up, he was beginning to understand, was seeing your parents in a more realistic light, not the idealized way you had as a child.

“We do now,” Jakob acknowledged. “Most of the time. But it took some work, and time, to get there.”

“I guess Charles is pretty young, sir,” Erik allowed maturely. “But he’s smart, I think he could learn new rules—“

His father was shaking his head, though. “It’s not about making new rules for Charles,” he tried to explain, but Erik didn’t like where this was going.

“I should just let him do whatever he wants?” he asked sharply, starting to get angry again.

“No, no,” Jakob claimed, calming him. “What I mean is—you’re territorial. What you have to do is—incorporate Charles into your territory.”

Erik blinked at him, trying to assimilate this idea. He was used to thinking of Charles as the outsider, the intruder—as if one day he could be fought off, sent away. But that wasn’t going to happen, was it? Charles was going to be here for a long time. Forever. And eventually—only a couple years, really—Erik wasn’t going to be able to assume that his parents would look after Charles most of the time. That would be _his_ job.

Of course, at a certain point Charles would (hopefully) be largely self-sufficient in terms of everyday living, but Erik would need to look out for him, run a household with him, raise children with him, be Charles’s companion day and night and accomplish important things with him. All without strangling him. Which at this point seemed a monumental task. He had to find a way to work _with_ Charles, and not always in _spite_ of him.

“Erik?” his father prompted at the long pause.

“I see what you mean,” Erik replied slowly. His father waited to see if he was going to elaborate, but for Erik the thoughts were too profound to articulate just yet. “I’ll work on that, sir,” he finally assured him.

That was good enough for the moment. “Great,” his father approved, eager to escape the conversation. “Well, I’ll see you at supper,” he added, leaving Erik to deliberate.

**

Erik knocked on the door to the guest bedroom where Charles was staying—no, it was _Charles’s room_ , he corrected himself. The terminology was important.

When he opened the door, Charles was sitting on the floor having a tea party with his stuffed animals, though it seemed an unusually somber one, as Charles’s parties went. When he saw that it was Erik at the door, he pointedly ignored him.

“Hey there,” Erik said anyway. “May I come in?” Charles shrugged, obviously still hurt, but Erik chose to take this as a yes. “Dr. Honey was wondering if he was still invited to tea,” Erik added, brandishing the bear as a peace offering.

“I suppose,” Charles finally answered. “It would be rude to take back an invitation.”

Erik sat down on the floor and propped the bear up in an empty spot next to Webby the penguin, and Charles gave him a toy cup and saucer. Erik was not really sure what the action at a tea party consisted of, but everyone seemed to be properly accessorized, at least.

“Um, good afternoon, Mrs. Purr,” he said to Charles’s grey stuffed kitten. “How do you do, Aloysius?” he added to the hippo. Their round, glossy eyes stared off into the distance, obviously inert, and he felt very stupid.

“I didn’t know you remembered their names,” Charles said, his warmth rising slightly.

“Sure I do, you talk about them enough,” Erik pointed out. “Um, is the platypus new?”

“This is Paddles,” Charles introduced. “I just found him in my room, this might be his first trip here.”

Charles’s room at his own home was a cavernous space with a second-level loft and massive closets, which had been accumulating piles of _stuff_ since the day he was born. Erik made no comment about Paddles’s origins but was not surprised to hear they were mysterious.

“Well, I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier,” Erik finally said, as was his point in coming here. “And you can call Mutti that. It’s nice.” Concessions had to be made, and would perhaps become easier in time.

“I love Mutti,” Charles asserted. “She’s so nice. And she calls me Little Gummi Bear!” He found this nickname terribly charming. “I like Schatzi, too,” he added, giving Erik a sideways glance. Erik was the only one who called him that, and quite rarely.

“Yeah,” Erik agreed noncommittally. He moved some of the tea party items around, giving everyone an equal number of spoons and fake cookies. “The thing is, though, you were in my room, and you messed stuff up.” He was not going to let Charles get away with this.

“Well, I wanted to play with you, Erik, and you wouldn’t play with me!” Charles protested, with impeccable little-kid logic.

“I know,” Erik acknowledged. Charles had begun by repeatedly pestering him in the kitchen; Erik supposed he should have predicted the younger boy would get up to something when he was rebuffed. “Next weekend I’ll try to do my homework while you’re doing something else, so we can spend more time together,” Erik promised.

Charles’s blue eyes widened in delight and he sprang forward to embrace Erik, scattering the tea party tableau. “That will be so much fun, Erik!”

“Yes, it will,” Erik claimed, perhaps without _quite_ the same amount of enthusiasm. “But listen,” he went on sternly, setting the other boy back, “there still might be times when I’m too busy to play. School is my job right now, you know, and it’s very important.” Charles nodded quickly, more impressed by Erik’s solemnity than actually understanding it. “And if I’m busy, you can’t just start messing with stuff,” he warned. “You might have to play quietly by yourself for a while.”

Charles did not like this part. “Oh, but Erik—“ he started to whine.

“Sometimes I have to do _important_ things, Schatzi,” Erik repeated firmly. “But then when I’m done, I can do _fun_ things with you. Er, that’s also important,” he added awkwardly. He hadn’t worked out the precise wording in advance. “So—can you behave yourself better? And I will, too.”

“I’ll try, Erik!” Charles promised earnestly. Erik had the feeling this conversation would be repeated many times in the future. But Charles had responded positively, and that was a good start in learning how to take care of his Omega.


End file.
